In the Land of Monsters and Men
by magic-blood
Summary: "In the land of monsters and men, she was an angel." The Disney movie told completely through the eyes of the gypsies. Clopin centric. Slight Clopin/Esmerelda.
1. Miracles

_**I**n the Land of Monsters and Men _

"In the land of monsters and men, she was an angel."

* * *

*rated for strong language, and implied sexual situations.

* * *

**C**enter of Paris, The Gallows -

The midday air of Paris was thick with the smell of smoke almost burning the lungs of the large cloaked gypsy man who dodged through a dense crowd. His name was Gilles. Like most of his kind, he never had a last name. He was from a lone mother and considered nothing but a bastard child turned thief leering from the shadows with the rest of his gypsy tribe.

Personally, Gilles didn't give the slightest care to what _they_ had to say. He had a life, friends, and a home. It was a place hidden from the gadje and their tyrant judge. A place where one of his closest comrades ruled as king and he, the obedient second hand man willing to lay down his life if the occasion called for it. An occasion like the one he presently found himself in.

The throng of lowly peasants had their attention directed at a man who stood bound by the wrists before the noose.

Gilles stood nearby, his face hidden mostly by the hood of his ragged cape, searching the crowd discretely. His presence went unknown to the people around him who were far too preoccupied with throwing whatever rotting vegetables and vulgar words they had at the bound man standing at the gallows.

"Have this ye gypsy scum!" cried a man to his side before hurling an indistinguishable rotten vegetable. Gilles managed to duck to the side just in time.

He cursed the watchers on under his breath. It had become second nature to him to hate the ones who hated him.

"Have your fun riding the Devil's knob!" laughed a man before glancing to the bottle he held in his hand and seeming to debate an idea in his mind. A second later, he shrugged and threw his arm back in an effort to hurl the bottle. Fortunately for the ill-fated man before the hecklers, Gilles snatched the bottle as he walked past, leaving the drunkard's fist wheeling through thin air.

"Thank you," he said as he continued to shove past peasants, "I was finding myself dry as dust."

The gypsy man on the platform gazed upward past the hecklers. With his broad shoulders pushed back and chest raised, he was a calm and regal figure. The crowd had seemingly no effect on him.

He was a striking man. He looked about 40 though his muscular physic made it appear otherwise. His pleasingly exotic eyes and pronounced cheekbones stood out beneath the filth that crusted his beard and the blood that stained his dirty excuse of a tunic.

The man was obviously Romany which the crowd had picked up on without a question asked. From the dark shade of his skin to the wavy ink black hair that fell past his shoulders; his ancestry practically echoed from his skin.

Yet, there was another apparent clue to his foreign ways. Across his brow was an intricate design etched in dark ink. Markings could also bee seen across his biceps and fingers. The bizarre mutilations only reminded the onlookers of the whispers they heard in the streets; "The gypsies practiced a dark magic beneath the city. Magic that summoned Satan himself. And they were to blame for bad luck and hardship. "

Everything about the man terrified them. From his large build to his low mumbles in a foreign tongue. They were practically itching to see him drop.

Gilles, still making his way through the crowd, took a healthy swig from the bottle.

Wiping his lips, he spotted a tall lean figure that was also wearing a cloak that swept the ground and hung low over his face. This lean figure was gazing upward, mysterious and distant from the crowd.

"Fine day for a hanging, _non mon ami_?" he asked approaching the man from the side.

The man did not take his gaze from the foreigner on stage.

"I prefer a bit more of an overcast for my hangings, Gilles," he said in a melodic voice that was slightly accented.

Gilles went to take another swig but was suddenly stopped as the bottle was ripped from his grasp.

The lean cloaked man swung his head back gulping the remains of the bottle. Finishing, he threw the glass to the ground, wiped his goatee clad chin with a gloved hand and lent a smirk to the man beside him.

"A cloudy day adds to the dramatic effect, you see."

Gilles laughed a bit humorlessly before glancing back to the noose.

"So that's the poor bloke? Never thought I'd see the likes of him in this position."

"Ahhh, every dog has his day. His bad day… his good day… his lucky day. And then," he said just as Judge Claude Frollo stepped onto the platform, "his _very_ lucky day."

Gilles nodded at that, "I suppose being close friends with Clopin Trouillefou comes with its benefits."

"My friendship has nothing to do with it." stated the man Gilles had named as Clopin. "I just awoke feeling a bit more sympathetic than usual."

The two fell silent as the Judge unrolled a scroll and began to read aloud.

"You see before you Gilles Le Roux. A man of gypsy and Romany lineage accused of defiling the law and starting a brawl with a guard of Paris openly in the square…"

The Judge's steel voice fell onto the crowd though they hardly noticed his presence and continued to shame the accused.

After sharing his words, Frollo turned to the man, Rabel Le Roux, who continued to look onward.

"Any final words you impudent wretch?" he questioned in a chillingly emotionless tone.

Rabel narrowed his brow, parted his lips slightly, and almost smiling stated: "Vive le France."

"Aw, shut your mouth! We want to his neck snap!" cried an onlooker followed by a stream of endless other impatient voices.

The two cloaked men watched on as Frollo sneered to the man leaning in to whisper him something. Rabel remained tight-lipped looking upward. Frollo scoffed at him.

"No matter. One more deviated soul in Hell is of no meaning to me. His sentence is death," said the Judge then directed at the crowd, "You, Rabel Le Rox, shall hang by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul!" He then nodded to the masked hangman and made his leave to watch on from the far corner of the stage.

The pair of men in the crowd watched breathlessly as the hangman cracked his knuckles and, ever so slowly, reached for the lever.

Rabel Le Roux then looked higher than he had been and began to mouth words in a language used thousands of roads away.

Just as the masked man grabbed the lever and pulled it back with a mighty tug, Gilles dashed nearer to the stage and dropped to the ground on his hands and knees.

Clopin glanced to the stage. He had to time this preciously otherwise he'd turn out to be the stiff being dragged away.

As the trap door under Rabel's feet swung open, Clopin sprinted toward Gilles, and using his body as a step, he leapt onto the stage in a magnificent flip. Once he found his footing, he gracefully turned to the crowd extending his cape to hide the place where Rabel had stood a moment before. Those who had been paying the close attention would have gotten a glance at the arrow buried into the wood that had snapped the rope around Rabel Le Roux's neck.

As the crowd cried in disbelief, Clopin bathed in their shock and smiled openly at their fear. His hood hid his face only reveling from his nose below.

"I am so sorry to disappoint!" he proclaimed careful to keep his voice low in an effort to further disguise himself. "But my good comrade Le Roux had forgotten he had made earlier plans."

"Get him!" cried Frollo pointing to Clopin. When his orders went unattended, he looked to the hangman just in time to see him stumble off the platform, an arrow protruding from his chest.

"And my deepest apologies to you as well, my good judge," added Clopin with a bow to Frollo who gaped to the gypsy king in return.

Clopin glanced back to the crowd, only his smirk showing to the audience, "VIVE LE FRANCE!" he cried before throwing smoke pellets to the ground and disappearing in a flashing white mist.

* * *

**O**utskirts of Paris, Miller's Gypsy Hideaway -

"That blasted goat ate my best pair of trousers!" proclaimed a young man waving a pair of shredded pants before a lovely young woman with large green eyes.

"He did not mean to! We're all a bit hungry, Bernier, it's not my fault… or Djali's"

The young man, a thin boy with thick black hair, and dark pronounced features, threw his hands in the air in frustration.

"La Esmerelda, I put up with your incessant humming, your constant jingling, and putrid beast for far _far_ too long!" he kept his voice low, but he was beginning to get louder than he realized.

"Stop your worrying, I can have those sewn without a problem. Just wait until we make it to the Court of Miracles." Said the young gypsy taking his pants and ignoring his various other disputes. Her generosity only proved to heat his blood.

"I think it should be a miracle if I do not kill you first!" he grabbed his garment back from her with a huff. Djali grunted at him jumping in front of Esmeralda.

She narrowed her thick eyebrows to him, "That's it you spoiled man! I'm leaving!" she said picking up her goat, and swinging a patched sack over her shoulder.

"Finally," he sighed watching her with indifference.

"I know the way to the Court," she continued, "What's stopping me from leaving you behind?"

"Because Monsieur Le Roux will be back at any moment now to lead us there himself." Said an older woman from a dark corner of the extremely small underground room they found themselves placed in. "Think of Celina," she added under her breath gesturing to a lonely young lady seated in the corner, gazing to her delicate hands in her lap.

The pair glanced to her feeling a bit guilty.

"I'm sorry, Madam Bernard" Esmeralda spoke up, "I guess I let this _child_ get the better of me."

"HA! _Child_," Bernier jeered, "She calls a grown man a child!" he pointed to her as she stared him down with squinted eyes, "I pray for the man you marry. He'll be having you more often over his knee than in the bed."

"Go to hell," she sneered.

"Catch the pox!" he retorted without missing a beat.

"Cack!"

"_Whore!"_

"Impede yourselves!" Spat Madam Bernard hushing them. "Stop it now or that kindly man and his family will have us all thrown out! What will we do then? Where will we go?"

"Let them." Spoke up Celina reminding the rest of her presence. She had a thick accent and seemed to have a limited grasp the other's language. "We are better by ourselves than with that... _fool!" _Her venomous words turned to tears as a hand covered her mouth and she began to sob.

"See what you did?!" Said Esmeralda in a whisper walking past the boy to her own corner of the room as the old woman fled to the side of the younger one.

Celina hushed away her concern, "I am fine! Please. I know that he is safe. He wouldn't have told us to leave unless he had a plan," her words seemed hallow and cursing though her sad and worried eyes proceeded to fill with tears.

"Of course," agreed the madam. "I am certain as well. Le Roux is a smart man, and unconquerable man! Well I'd like to see those Parisians take on the likes of him."

"Thank you, Madam Bernard," she said faintly as she closed her eyes.

Just then, the group jumped to a strong knock at the door from the room above.

"What's that?" asked Esmeralda both her and Djali standing at alert.

"Hush!" said Bernier trying to listen carefully to the muffled voices.

Madam Bernard clung to the side of Celina, "Is it the guards? Could they have found us so quickly?"

Bernier rolled his eyes before barking at the old woman to silence herself.

But his attempts fell flat as soon as Celina began to softly sob and Esmeralda began to pace, her belled ensemble jingling.

"_EVERYONE STOP." _He commanded in as loud a voice he could manage.

The room fell to silence, the only sounds to be heard from above were the creaks of the floor board.

Bernier pursed his lips and slowly reached to clutch the dagger that hung from his belt.

The group starred upwards, scared for their lives, as light crept into the room and the trap door was opened.

There stood two dark men clad in cloaks, feathered hats, and loudly colored clothes

Bernier sighed loudly, "_Gods_, this place is going to be cramped tonight…" he smiled mockingly to them, "Which one of you lucky bastards wants to share a cot with the witch and her beast?"

One of the three men laughed off the boy's assumptions and knelt down to the hidden room, "I am Andre, and we are here by order of the King of Truands. He wishes to inform you that Rabel Le Roux is well and being cared for in the Court of Miracles."

"Oh, what news!" Proclaimed the older woman embracing Celina who only looked onto the other gypsies emotionlessly.

"You're Clopin's men?" Asked Esmeralda. "Did he make mention of me? La Esmeralda?"

The same man shook his head, "No, but he does wish for each of your safe returns and sends his remorse for your plight."

Esmeralda nodded to the ground.

"Well then. Follow us now, there's a feast awaiting you all!" he said offering his hand to group.

Bernier shrugged as the men helped the women out of the room, "You're expecting me to believe that Le Roux was freed from that fine Palace of Justice and was able to find his way to the Court of Miracles?"

The man smiled giving the boy a hand as he leapt from the concealed room.

"You are a gypsy traveling across many miles to find the Court of Miracle, _non_?"

Bernier nodded a tad uncommitted.

"Well then, my brother," said Andre placing a hand on his shoulder, "you must start believing in miracles."

The group of gypsies said their thanks to the kindly Miller family who let stay the night before making their way to a mule drawn caravan awaiting them.

"Tell me how it was done," asked Celina to the Andre clutching his arm. "Tell me how my husband lives."

The man looked to her pleading eyes as the others jumped into the caravan.

"It was Clopin – the man we look to as our king and a few of his most trusted men who saved your husband from the noose earlier today."

She gasped shaking her head, "They put themselves… in that danger?"

He nodded helping her into the carriage. "_Oui mademoiselle_, and you can thank him yourself in about an hour." With that, he closed the door and made his way to the front beside the driver.

"Well," began Bernier as they sat comfortably in the wagon. "Welcome to Paris. I feel like the damned King himself!" he glanced to Esmeralda who had been quiet. "Speaking of kings..."

She glanced to him, meeting his mischievous gaze with her own deadly one.

"He'll remember me once we meet. I have no doubts," she said curtly.

The bothersome young man shrugged, "People forget things, _mon cher_."

"Not so easily they don't. Besides, you don't even know him."

"No, I 'spose I don't. What's the ol' bastard like?"

The others seemed to take interest in their conversation as well. Esmeralda looked back to her lap.

"When I was a member of the Court he was... well he was Clopin. He had a friend in every passing face, the eldest of a line of siblings and prepared to take control of the Court of Miracles after his father. He had many talents, story telling, singing, dancing..." she smirked, "among other things. He was never without a smile. Always seeking the center of attention. And he loves a good party."

"Sounds like a right man," said Bernier pleased.

Celina shifted her gaze from out the window to Esmeralda.

"Is he very handsome, the king?"

Esmeralda looked to her for a moment. It was the first time she had spoken to her. All she knew of Celina was that Rabel Le Roux had found her wandering lost and far from home. He took a liking to her. Since she was in needing a home and obviously a foreigner he decided to take her as a wife.

"I think he's just an all around charming man to be in the company of. You'll see for yourself."

"And," asked Bernier clearing his throat, "how are the _women_ of this hidden kingdom?"

Esmeralda rolled her eyes.

* * *

*if you'd like some more, please review :)


	2. Acquaintances

**B**eneath the Streets of Paris, The Court of Miracles -

"And would you believe this swine had the nerve to call me liar? Why, even in my tattered rags I had more class than that man could wish for! _Bourgeois swine!_" exclaimed Rabel Le Roux before taking a long gulp from his mug. He was regaling a large group of curious gypsies of his unfortunate journey to the Court.

"D'you believe anything he's said so far?" asked Gilles to Clopin who leisurely reclined at the head of the long table beneath a tent were they had gathered.

"Wait a moment," he said hushing his friend, "I think he's getting to the partially honest part just now."

"There I was, _mon amis_, ten feet into the city and already being accused of an outrageous crime! This guard stopped us and demanded I show him what was inside my personal trunks and sack. He told me that gypsies harbor stolen goods and that I'd be straight out lying if I said I wasn't."

Clopin stroked his goatee before taking a small sip from an ornate goblet.

"Anyways, once I refused there were more guards in a blink. In two blinks they had doubled in size! Without giving me a moment to comply they pushed me to ground. Luckily my son, Bernier, of… Marie," Rabel Le Roux took a moment to look upward, kiss his palm, and show it to the ceiling, "rest her soul..." Clopin did everything in his power to not roll his eyes.

"I was able to hurry the women away. I told them to return to the kindly miller who let us rest the night."

Le Roux's voice hardened as he places his glass on the table before him.

"The Palace of Justice is a treasure trove of torment and torture. Echoes of miserable men being whipped resound through the steely, cold, black walls. All the while, the evil and pale as a dead man's corpse - Judge Claude Frollo - watches on." A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I think the man gets as hard as stone over the screams."

Clopin narrowed his brow as the others seated around whispered to each other.

"Those memories are best forgotten, Le Roux," spoke up Gilles, "How ever hard that might be…"

"Harder than _hell_," he spat."I fear that this judge has bigger plans for the likes of us and I don't think he will rest until each and every gypsy is exiled from Paris… in whichever way he sees fit."

"Well then it is a good thing we are still safe here," said Clopin gesturing to Court of Miracles surrounding them.

Le Roux looked to him wearily, the smile on his lips faulted for a moment. "Yes, of course."

Clopin eyed him questionably for a moment before his trusted comrade, Andre, interrupted his train of thought with the welcome of Le Roux's clan.

Esmeralda was struck with an immeasurable amount of memories as she stepped through the drapery, and into the Court of Miracles. Everything looked just as it had years ago. Loud colors splashed in every corner of the slightly chilled stonewall dwelling. Young ones running about, elderly gossiping with one another outside their tents and caravans, and all the others clustered together enjoying each other's company.

She stood there for a long moment letting the memories fall onto her.

"This is the Court of Miracles?" questioned Bernier haughtily with his hands on hips looking out to the grounds.

She eyed him just as Andre declared their arrival with his hands held above his head.

"Welcome La Esmeralda, Monsieur Bernier Le Roux, Mademoiselle Celina Le Roux, and Madam Bernard of Bourgogne to the Court of Miracles!"

Clopin glanced behind him to the entrance of the Court, "Ah, it appears they've arrived with their necks intact, _Dieu merci_!" he jokingly commented.

"Yes!" said Le Roux getting on his slightly wobbly feet with a slightly worried look, "but I doubt mine will be after my new wife, Celina has had her way with me."

The crowd of men laughed before dispersing, patting Le Roux on his shoulder as they walked past.

Clopin gallantly strode over the wide-eyed group as Andre seemed to be telling them of the general layout of the Court.

"Well then, what took you so long to arrive? That bastard Le Roux has been here for _hours_!"

The people glanced up to their new king. At first, one most likely would not image the thin, jovial, jester-like man to be the passionate king to hoards of gypsies. Yet, it would only take a few moments in his regal, yet wicked, company to learn of his true nature.

Esmeralda had to glance at him for only a second before realizing who he was. The blissful grin she held slowly turned to a stunned gape.

Andre laughed to his partner, "Caught the lot at the Laurent's pub."

"Aha ha ha ha," laughed Bernier as dryly as possible only to get elbowed by Madam Bernard.

"So, is that where you have all been?" asked Le Roux from behind the group.

They quickly turned around and burst into a mess of cheers and joyful cries.

Celina gasped loudly at the sight before mumbling something in a foreign tongue. Le Roux didn't waste a moment before lifting her flailing body in a massive hug. Her small frame engulfed by his incredibly large one.

"You idiot!" she managed to cry as she beat him before giving up on her empty rage and returning his hug.

"Father!" cried Bernier as Le Roux turned to embraced his son. After him, it was Esmeralda's turn.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you," she confessed.

"And you I, _mon cheri_."

He then was met with Madam Bernard who could only smile to him teary eyed. He sighed and kissed her forehead.

"A thousand apologies," spoke up Clopin after the group was reunited, "I cannot image the pain you all have been through – but now you are home," he said as he removed his hat and proceeded to make a sweeping bow. "I am the King of Truands, Clopin Trouillefou de l' Cour des Miracles. And it of the upmost honor that I welcome you all to our humble dwelling."

Celina gazed to the King wide eyed as Le Roux presented her with a protective arm around her waist.

"This is my young wife, Celina. She's most likely from somewhere far north. But, she produces lovely garments and will become an asset to your people, I am certain."

Clopin took her by both hands and placed a gentle kiss on each one, "_Enchante, mademoiselle_."

"I've been awaiting your acquaintance, my King."

"Aha! My King! I quite like that," said Clopin with a wink to her. She blushed in return, her large, exotic eyes blinking to the ground.

Le Roux laughed before putting a hand on Bernier's shoulder, "This is my son, he's 18 and a promisingly strong young man…" Bernier proudly raised his head and stuck out his chest. "Ignore his quick tongue. Afraid he inherited his mother's incomparable sense of sarcasm." He added with chagrin causing his son to only slightly deflate.

Clopin smiled to the boy, "Good to meet you, son. We seem to always be in need of more young men around here."

"And," said Le Roux presenting the older woman at his side, "this is our good friend, and gifted healer, Madam Bernard."

"A gifted healer you say?"

The elderly woman nodded. "Anything but the clap and plague, boy."

Clopin raised and eyebrow, "Than you shall be quite handy indeed!"

"Lastly, this is of course, La Esmeralda - she bartered a ride with us here, but I have known her for many years now."

Esmeralda looked up shyly, her large bright eyes meeting Clopin's dark ones.

He eyed her curiously for a moment, "That makes two of us then."

Of course, Clopin held tight control of who entered his Court, and he knew she would be coming. Yet, he was surprised.

"You remember me?" she asked just over a whisper.

"How on earth could I forget such a radiant creature?" he asked stepping closer to her and running a hand over her hair before resting it on her shoulder. "Your beauty has only grown since… your leave."

Her lips parted slightly as he took her hand and pressed her palm softly to his lips.

"It is with great happiness that we welcome you back, little Esme."

She felt her face burn red as he dropped a slow, deliberate, wink.

Clopin then glanced down to her feet to see her goat looking up to him. "And of course you as well, Djali."

With that, Clopin turned to address the people meandering around, "My friends, your attention please!" he called out to instantly get all heads to turn. "These good people are dear friends of mine and Rabel Le Roux – they have valuable skills such as healing and garment mending. Please welcome them as warmly as you would your own lost family."

"I don't understand, how did they save you?" asked Bernier to his father.

"I cannot say exactly, I'm sure it's a sort of gypsy secret. All I know is one moment I was falling with a noose around my neck, and then next I was blindly running through a shouting crowd with a clan of cloaked men at my aid." He laughed shaking his head, "I cannot say that it wasn't magic or a miracle."

Celina gazed up to her husband with a look of uncertainty. He frowned to her.

"What is it, my love?"

A hand rose to her forehead, "I think I'm in need of rest…"

Clopin glanced back to the group.

"Ah, my dear," he said suddenly at Celina's side, ushering her in direction of a cluster of tents and caravans. "Allow me to lead you to where you and your husband will stay."

Esmeralda watched as the Le Roux clan and Clopin meandered away, her gaze to the King unfaltering until Madam Bernard intruded on her thoughts.

"He seemed a bit… surprised to see you… to say the very least."

She blinked looking away from him. "Yes, well… we have a rather interesting past."

The woman frowned, "What could that mean? You two are far too separated in age to have been lovers…"

"Oh no," she said with a breathy laugh, "nothing quite so… simple."

The woman shrugged before deciding to leave the side of Esmerelda.

"Aw well, I assume you would tell me if you truly wished to. I need to inspect our new home. Enjoy the rest of this adventurous day!"

Esmeralda nodded as she left, "As you wish, Madam Bernard."

She frowned to the ground before slowly raising her gaze back to Clopin who lifted a tent curtain that Celina and Bernier disappeared into. His glance shifted to meet hers. She quickly looked away and made her way to explore the place she once called home.

* * *

"You're family is beautiful, Rabel, my friend." said Clopin outside the tent. The burly man smiled and laughed heartily.

"Yes, yes they are… don't know what a son of a whore like me did to deserve all of this. Must have done something great in a previous life, aye?"

Clopin smirked, "Can say the very same for myself."

There was a quiet moment between the men. Something hung above them like a black cloud about to drench the ground.

Clopin took the initiative as the man's smile fell, he places his hand on his friend's shoulder, "My brother… forget what you saw in the Palace of Justice. Make love to your wife. Enjoy the company of your son. You must put the past in the past."

"No…" said the man in a serious tone. "No. There is something I have not yet shared."

Clopin chuckled, "Well do you want me to call everyone back so can you share some more of your… eh, account?"

He somberly shook his head, "This is something only your _trusted_ few shall know."

"What is it?"

Le Roux gulped, "Judge Cluade Frollo knows of the Court of Miracles."

Clopin's heart sank. The man before him just uttered the words that haunted his every nightmare.

"Well!" exclaimed Bernier jumping from the tent and strutting between the men, "This is much, much, more than I was expecting! You're Court is a wonder, my good sir!" He added taking Clopin's hand.

Clopin blinked, stunned silent – the rarest of anomalies.

Bernier stared smiling to the man, "Now, that blasted _mademoiselle_ with the ruddy goat tells me you're the man to go to for a good party, _non_?"

Clopin finally acknowledged the boy, looking to him with indifference.

He glanced back to Le Roux who only gazed back with a hurt expression.

"We shall have words… later," the King finally said to the troubled man.

Bernier glanced between them slightly confused by the strangely tense scene.

"Oh come on, don't let my father's folly ruin a good excuse for a celebration!"

"Boy," Clopin said turning his attentions to the young man, placing an arm around his shoulder and leading him away from his father.

"Let me make one thing _very_ clear to you. This is not a cheap brothel. You are never to bring any whores, performers, passing nomads, or anyone at all to _our_ court without _my_ exact permission. Disobedience to this rule will be seen as treachery and there are few things I hate more than a rotting traitor. Is this all clear?"

Bernier raised a brow, "I'm not some sort of dolt, sir."

Clopin patted him on the chest briskly before leaning in closer to him, "Of course you're not. You are your father's son, after all."

With that, he slid away from the young man's side.

"Oh- and there will be an, eh, modest celebration tonight, I suppose."

Bernier smiled to that, "Lead by his Kingship, I assume?"

Clopin shook his head sauntering away, "Not me. I'm afraid I have work tomorrow!"

The young man's face twisted in confusion.

"Work?" he muttered to himself.

* * *

*Just wanted to comment about the new Paul Kandel interview the podcast Disney on Demand made. Marvelous to hear his take on the character, and his fond memories of making the movie. It's on youtube if anyone is interested...

And please review, I'd like to know your opinion on my characterizations. Also, for some reason my OCs are cockney English bastards. I don't know. Just go with it.


	3. Truths

**M**eeting Headquarters - The Court of Miracles -

"What's the point of this blasted meeting?"

"You can't expect us to act civilized with the celebration going on in the center!"

"Have you seen that La Esmeralda dance? _Mon Duie_! She has struck my heart."

"You're heart? Try aiming a bit lower!"

The chattering men clad in black gathered in a secluded area of the Court, where Clopin held intense discussions on the private matters of security.

The men were of all ages, but they had one thing in common; they were all a part of a bloodline that spanned decades. Each gypsy man, as crafty and elusive as the next, was a trusted and long-time member of the Court of Miracles.

One of the only men not taking part in the lighthearted complaints was the stoic Andre who sat alone at the table with his arms crossed.

Just then, Clopin made his entrance. He rushed in with his cloak flowing gallantly behind him and Le Roux at his heals. The king threw his hat on the table and room instantaneously fell silent.

They might have been a rowdy crowd, but they were devoted men all answering to the grand title; spies and protectors of Clopin's people and the Court.

Andre eyed Clopin, knowing in an instant the news he called them to hear was nothing but dire.

"Men," started the King standing before them, "As we welcome Le Roux , his family, and friends… we also welcome a terrible truth." He paused for a moment leaning over the long table they gathered at.

"Our Court is no longer the safest place for gypsies in Paris… in fact, it may soon become a caged death trap."

"What do you mean, Clopin?" questioned Andre as the others quietly exchanged glances.

"Why don't you share your news, Le Roux." Began Clopin stepping back so Le Roux had the center of attention, "Tell us nothing but the…" he rolled his eyes, "…holy, truth."

Le Roux looked to the men wearily, "Frollo, that devil of a prick, knows of the Court of Miracles and has made it his obsessive project to find it and destroy it."

The room erupted in a range of emotion. Some men denied his words as the others could only grab for their daggers, proclaiming their willingness to die for their home.

"Now, now, now_, mon amis_," said Clopin raising his hands, "allow our brother to finish."

He nodded to Le Roux who went on, "Unlike his scum brother, this Frollo is fond of torture. He had his men beat me. Over and over. Not enough to do any good damage, just enough to hurt. And, as Frollo had his dogs leap to his commands – he went on about his knowledge of the Court."

Le Roux shook his head, he was back on that damp cell, reliving it all again.

"This Frollo, he's off. He's mad! He has an agenda against us. I think if he had it his way, he'd spill every last Romany of his blood. Every last man, woman, … and child."

"How do you know for certain?" asked a voice.

"Does he know of our location?" questioned another.

Le Roux shook his head, "He said he knew of a place called the Court of Miracles where gypsies gather in the sewers like rats."

He could almost hear Frollo's voice in his head…

"Tell me the exact location of this haven or you will burn in hell's fire where your soul will be scorched by Satan himself!"

"Ah," interrupted Clopin with a flippant air of disinterest, "those bloody priests, or what have you, with their bloody _hellfire_."

"I, of course, said I knew nothing. He did not believe me…" Le Roux made a small humorless laugh, "The bastard straight out said he knew of the King himself."

Clopin's ears perked "Of little old me?" he asked with an innocent voice and hand placed on his heart.

"He think you a foolish fat pig, sitting on some tin throne, with a line of whores on bended knee… waiting for their chance to suck your co—"

"Such flattery!" Clopin said cutting him off. "And not too far off."

The group of men laughed.

Clopin took his position at the head of the table once again. He knew Le Roux was one for the dramatics, like himself. Alas, he also knew Frollo would eventually be a problem, but for the time being, he didn't see what he could do. After all, Le Roux didn't make it sound like Frollo had their exact location.

"Everything must change then," he began. "Frollo is old, he hasn't got much time left on earth, _Dieu_ willing. But until then… until this whole matter blows over, we let no one in and trust only the few we already know."

The men looked to each other, nodding in agreement.

"And, Clopin," spoke up Le Roux.

"Yes?"

"Thank you, and your men," he said looking to the faces at the table, "from the bottom of my heart. A soothsayer once told me that my life would end at the hand of a white devil. I'm certainly glad that hand wasn't Frollo's."

Clopin would rather die than admit it, but he had not awoken this day with some grand feeling that he should look with empathy to his old friend's plight. It was not by divine chance either that he had saved Le Roux's life. He had done it simply because he would never be able to live with himself if he had turned a blind eye. He had high morals in only one section of his life. And that was when it came to the lives of his people and his close friends.

Although, if any of them had pulled such a ridiculously dangerous stunt for _his_ own life, he would have sworn on his mother's life; he'd haunt them from beyond the grave. Or kill them himself if their foolish stunt actually worked.

The men shook Le Roux's hand and wished each other a goodnight before dispersing into the square where the celebration was still going on.

Still… Clopin seemed to not be in the highest of spirits.

After ordering the men to enjoy the rest of the night, he lingered behind, deciding to instead perhaps watch the festivities from a distance.

He gazed out the entrance of the tent, what he saw practically made his heart skip a beat.

Esmeralda had the crowd gathered around her as she passionately danced, hitting a tambourine to her hip.

He had known she was a talented dancer. As a child, she would constantly be enchanting whoever would take a moment to look up from their hectic life to acknowledge the small, skinny, girl with a mess of knotted black hair. She'd kick out her legs, swinging her hips, and jump to her own mystic rhythm as if it was what she was placed on earth to do.

He sighed running a hand through his hair…

His mind wandered years past. To the morning he had learned she had finally made good on her word. That she had gone somewhere far east with a few other hopeless wanderers.

* * *

**Y**ears previous – The Court of Miracles -

"You lied to me… you lied to me my whole life, Clopin!" she had yelled to him from outside his caravan, tears filling her eyes.

He had only just wandered home from the tavern, drunk and tired…

"You said nobody knew where I came from. You said you saved me! Just some poor orphan on the street…" tears rolled down her cheeks as he glances to her walking into his tent. He knew this was coming, he saw every move she made from a mile away. Not that he always knew how to handle said moves. "And, for years, I even believed you!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He answered emotionlessly. "Go to bed, girl. It is late."

"NO!" she protested storming inside his room. "Not until you tell me why you demand to keep my lineage a secret!" He turned his back, removing his tunic and throwing it on his bed. "What?! Was my father, or mother, _gadje_? Is that why your father would never look at me as I passed? And what did that woman mean when she said that… that I don't belong here?"

"SHE MEANT NOTHING!" Clopin spat.. He was angry. Esmeralda had never heard such a voice come from the normally jovial man. "My father, he… what does it matter anyway?! He's dead! And that woman is a deranged whore!" He glanced to her from over his shoulder. She stood facing him silently still begging for him for answers.

What could he say? Nothing he could tell her would quiet her rage.

She had only just become a young woman. And he himself had known all too well of the restless feelings that occur at that age.

Esmeralda carefully stepped forward as he, half naked, rubbed the temples of his head.

She bit her lip, daring herself to step closer, and closer still to the handsome king.

"In all my years in this secret place," she began in her rough voice, "you're the only person who has looked kindly on me. You're the only man who has ever…. Ever…"

Clopin looked up. Even in his drunken state he sensed where she was going. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

She slowly raised her hand and began to reach for his bare skin…

He swiftly turned to face her, crudely grabbing her wrist.

"Esmeralda," he gasped.

"Yes… ?"

He searched her large eyes. He'd never say a word to hurt her. He couldn't. Not even if his very life depended on it.

They stood quietly in the dark for a long moment before he finally dropped her hand and turned back to his bed.

"I'm going to sleep."

She staggered backwards, her frown and tears returning with a vengeance.

"So. That's it?" she asked.

"Tomorrow is a new day. Put these thoughts in your past."

She bit her lip in order not to make her cries audible.

"I love you," she choked out in a whisper.

He closed his eyes, and painfully drew a long breath before uttering the last thing he had said to her.

"Don't."

* * *

Clopin was jolted forward as Andre put a friendly arm around his shoulders.

"A vision, isn't she?" he asked to his dazed King.

Clopin nodded coming into the present moment. Looking onto the cheering crowd clapping for the out of breath gypsy woman.

"One could say."

Andre looked to his remorse-ridden face.

"I didn't take you to be a man who lived in the past."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Oh, you know what I mean by that."

Clopin agitatedly sighed, "If you are implying that I haven't forgiven that fiery temptress for a thoughtless ploy she pulled nearly a decade ago… well you are plain wrong, _ami_."

Andre shook his head, "I know you better than any of them think they do. And I still am clueless as to what goes on in your head most of the time."

"Well it's simple actually," he answered without hesitation, "women, wine, and my lady; Paris."

"Yes but it is the specificities of those certain things that will be the end of you, Clopin."

"Then I think I will die the happiest man in France!" he declared before stepping out of the tent and making his way into the party. And with one single long stride, he had returned to being the masked spirit – the center of attention.

* * *

*I was inspired to post this after a kind review was left! Thank you very much!

Please review lovely readers! (that's what they all say) (but you should do it, please c:)


	4. Songs

**E**smeralda's Tent - The Court of Miracles -

Esmeralda had slipped away from the party as quietly as possible. She wasn't one for celebration and she certainly did not find the attention of some of the men to be enjoyable. Her mind had wandered to finally being able to spend a moment along and she could think of little else. So, she had decided to make her leave without saying much of a goodnight to anyone.

Now in her personal tent, she was free to keep to herself and peacefully arrange her new space to her liking. Even though she didn't own many things, the few items she had (a couple of ear bobbles, scarves, skirts, and other clothing items) meant more to her than she cared to admit.

After about an hour, she had begun to remove her over-worn traveling clothes and slip into a simple underdress and a red robe she had nicked from a performer on the road.

That was when a voice rang over the noise of the festivities from outside her tent, a voice that made her heart leap into her throat.

"I have seen her with my own very eyes…" The male's sweet singing voice rang, "A beautiful angel glanced my way and she's taking me back to the skies!"

She smiled a weary grin that almost pained her. Although the voice was slightly slurred and a bit obnoxious, it still held a crystal clear angelic value that could only belong to one man of the court. She quickly tied her robe and opened the flap of her tent. There stood the gangly figure of Clopin who seemed even a bit ganglier when slightly intoxicated.

"I lie in the loneliness of the evening, looking back on these forgotten memories!"

He continued holding a bottle up and belting before the young woman, arms outstretched.

"Oh, Clopin!" She cried flinging her arms around him. "That song!" she cried burying her face in his tobacco smelling cloak fabric, "I'd thought I'd never hear it again."

When they had met earlier that day, nothing felt right to Esmeralda. Never was he a grand King to her. When she knew him he was no different than any other gypsy. She was afraid it would never again be like how it was. But then - in that one moment of happiness - it was like she had never left.

She laughed as they parted and finished the song together.

"I sing sadly to the moon, oh how soon, how soon, will that angel come back to me?"

She giggled again as he finished reaching a note she could never manage herself.

"Will that angel… Come back to me?"

She could only smile up to him as he looked down to her with a friendliness in his eyes that made her heart want to explode with admiration.

Both had been changed by the years they spent apart, for the worse, and for the better.

"I feared everything would be different if I were to return. But it's all exactly the same!" she said as they stepped into her tent.

Clopin crossed his arms putting on a look of insult, "Well excuse me. I've spent years renovating this place! Even had a mind to take it out to somewhere in the countryside…"

She laughed again. He took one last swig from his bottle before tossing it over his shoulder.

"You look so… So beautiful, La Esmeralda. The years may have aged this old goat but I see have only acted in you favor."

"I'm a real woman now, I suppose. As Mature and regal as a noble lady of some court."

"Well I hope not!"

She shook her head. "Well, maybe not so regal… But, regal enough for Clopin and his Court of Miracles! And don't speak about my handsome King that way!" she added wagging a finger at him, "Look at yourself, Clopin. You age like a fine wine."

He sighed heavily, "I've had enough in me over my years..."

Just then, as her unbelievably green eyes shone in the dim light of a lantern, he was reminded of her unparalleled loveliness and of why he had come to her that night.

"Esme… I came here, well to be honest it was your dancing that sparked my interest."

"Oh," she moaned, rolling her eyes. "That."

"That, _mon cher_, is nothing but a talent that should be put on display!"

"I despise my talent," she spat. "What do I get in return? Ogling men and two tin coins. Never enough."

"What if… you were to dance for all of Paris?" he inquired raising his eyebrow. "Would that be enough for you?"

She frowned pondering the outrageous thought for a moment, "Well… maybe then I'd get a slight chance at a silver coin."

He laughed, "Oh, they'll be throwing you diamonds if you dance the way you did tonight!"

"Dance where, Clopin?"

"Dance for me. In my festival. The festival of fools."

Her eyes widened with fear, "You've got to be joking, I'd never! Besides, what about your fine sister? I wouldn't want to take the shine from her big moment!"

She suddenly realized she must have said something wrong as Clopin looked away. A deep sadness filled his eyes.

"Oh. Don't worry," he said quietly, scoffing away her worries as a hand reached to scratch the back of his head. "You won't be."

"Why not? She was the most marvelous dancer I knew of! Don't tell me she's given it up! I learned practically everything I know from her."

"I'm sure she's dancing somewhere," he finally stated looking back to Esmeralda. "It's just not with us cursed to live on this earth."

Esmeralda's face fell and she could feel her heart sink to the pit of her stomach.

"No… No, Clopin. I'm sorry I hadn't heard." She watched as he attempted to smile and bat away her sadness… but somehow seemed to not quite be able to. "How did she-"

"Caught pick pocketing. All a misunderstanding." He answered curtly before clearing his throat.

Esmeralda came to the realization that things might have changed after all.

"But will you?" He asked again changing the subject. "Will you dance for me, for Paris, before that cursed _Monsieur_ with the big funny hat and pale face?"

"Who is that?"

"Well that is the evil Judge Claude Frollo. The man responsible for sentencing Le Roux to be hung, the man responsible for-" his sentence stopped, caught in his throat. "The man responsible for many tragedies."

She blinked. "Why does that name seem so familiar?"

He smirked remembering a story of his he hadn't shared in years.

"You must remember that old story of mine."

She gasped. "Yes, yes! Oh hell, how did it go?"

"I believe it had something to do with the bells of Notre Dame…"

"A figure whose clutches were iron as much as the bells- " he sang once more in his enchanting voice.

She snapped her fingers suddenly remembering, "The bells of Notre Dame! Judge Claude Frollo!"

He nodded feeling rather nostalgic and pleased that she hadn't somehow forgotten his stories over the years.

"He's the man who killed the mother…" She frowned. "The man who keeps that poor boy locked in that stone building."

Clopin shook his head with a laugh. "All just a story some drunkard told me. I simply couldn't resist the poetic irony of it all! Could you imagine - a cold snowy night - that scared skeleton of a man - gazing up to that cold monument - the eyes of some gadje saints starring back. Being so scared he'd need a change of trousers I'd suppose." He added with a laugh.

She narrowed her brow. "Just a story then?"

He shrugged. "Eh, the man I heard it from said the man he'd heard it from was halfway convincing. But how could anyone know for sure what happened that night? Unless Notre Dame spends it's time starting wild rumors… And really does have eyes. Never mind ears…"

An idea sparked in her mind "Huh! Who rings those bells then?!"

He looked to her as of she was joking before bursting into hysterical laughter.

She pouted.

"Truly Esmeralda. You say you have grown up but… Nothing has really changed. You're still the same little brat."

She succumbed to his friendly mocking and laughed too.

There was a long comfortable silence between the two then. Her large eyes looked to his dark ones. She knew the past was still hanging in the air. Their unfinished conversation and the feelings she shared all those years ago somehow still hovering above them.

"Ah!" He said raising his pointer finger to the air, "You have not yet answered my question!"

She put her hands to her hips. How could she say no him?

"You have my word, Clopin. I shall preform before king, county, and judge."

He bowed deeply to her removing his feathered hat.

"Only if my Princess shall allow me to look on!"

She smiled impishly, "Only if you shall share half you coin with her highness."

He shot back up, "Half?!"

She smirked.

"Ohohoho," he chuckled looking to her cat-like glare knowingly, "the cunning you beautiful young women possess. You know even their Christian God would let you pass if you'd give him a wink."

She blushed looking to the floor. There were not many men who could have such an effect on her. Clopin was the only one. And only on his best days, at that.

"You must get an act together as soon as possible. The feast is tomorrow afternoon, let us not forget." He added with a groan.

"Getting tired of your roll as the master of ceremonies, are you?"

"Never!" He answered honestly. "It's just a pain in the neck tracking down the bloody useless Parisian who won the crown last year…"

She laughed again, using it as an excuse to build up the courage to ask her next question.

"So, I suppose which ever suitor of yours you've chosen as a wife will no doubt be there as well?"

She bit her tongue only a sentence too late.

Once again, he placed his hands on his stomach and laughed. "A wife? For yours truly? My dear, Esmeralda. The king would rather swear of women all together than commit himself to one!"

She didn't see what was so hilarious. "Then who would carry on your lineage?"

"Well, I do not know. I suppose one of the bastards running around here will have to do."

She batted his chest. "Clopin! How wicked of you!"

His large hand graced over the spot on his chest where she hit him. "That reminds me of the other reason I had come to visit."

Suddenly he unclasped his cloak from around his neck revealing a thin white tunic that barley hung onto his lithe form, cutting low in the front and showing his chest.

She pursed her lips, her eyes darting to the floor for a moment.

A slow smirk crept on his lips as he reached under the front of his tunic and produced a necklace. At the end dangled an oval shaped woven with some colored string.

She glanced up to the trinket he held before her. She looked as if someone had slapped her.

"When you wear this woven band you hold the city in your hand." He made a small laugh as he held it before her. "Funny to think that the king himself would need help finding his own court. But I suppose you were in the right to get nervous after some of my long… Exertions… Shall we say?"

She reached for the handmade trinket.

"You may wander but never leave for long. Your people need you. The court is where you belong." She said concluding the rhyme she once had made up for him.

"You can keep it, La Esmerelda." He added. "Who would have thought you may have needed it more than I?"

She looked back to up him with a grateful smile. "Thank you for allowing me back home."

He tipped his hat, "Welcome back, _mon cher_."

As she clutched the band to her heart she wanted to cherish that very moment forever in her memory. How handsome he looked throwing his cloak back over his shoulders. How his eyes shimmered with a wicked joy. How his ever-radiant smile, that could warm the coldest heart, beamed towards her. How he threw her a careless wink, turned in swirl of soft fabric and elegant feathers, then left.

"Come one! Come all! See the finest girl in France! Throw her diamonds to make it last! Dance, La Esmerelda, dance!" He belted as she watched him disappear into the smoky shadows of the court.

* * *

*Thank you all for being patient with this last chap! I've decided that this plot will differ a bit from the Disney version (for dramatic effect mostly) (and no it won't be something romantic... sadly). Please review and continue to enjoy my kind readers!


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